A Run of the Clock
by DrGinger35
Summary: Hope you like it, I "sherley" do.  One man, one girl; two people, one future.  Disclaimer: I own nothing!All owned by Warner Bros.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Shock

Perspective: Holmes

I knew it. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew it. She was trouble. No doubt that was in my mind could prevent me from being of the upmost certainty that she, of all the bitches in this damned country, yet the whole city of London, was the one to bring the situation that I am in today before me. I must tell you of it or THE END? will never be solved, and all of my life will be kept hanging, forever.

I was drunk. I felt queasy and stupid. I'd left Watson's bedraggled house, leaving him, as well as half of London in the confusion of the package delivered by the anonymous source, being myself. I avoided the idea of returning to my own home, knowing that Watson or Mrs. Hudson would be present in the account of my reappearance. I went to the second best place for the night; the bar. And I paid, too, with my own money. Though now I feel horrible, depressed and slightly nauseated when I think about the events that occurred, but the show must go on…

Irene Alder is gone. She… died, unfortunately of my own mistake. So I was to be forever unfeeling of any love, joy or happiness, to only be doing everything for the good of innocents everywhere. But no longer; I the great Sherlock Holmes would do what I wanted to, for once! I would indulge myself with just a taste, or maybe even a sip of desired happiness, but then to get drunk on my joy was preposterous, at least until the third glass was poured, then I just couldn't stop.

But to wake up as an abashed drunk, with hung-over eyes and a mouth that was hollow and dry, it was torture. I felt like shit, to put it nicely. I started moaning at the bartender, who kindly told me to shut up. I didn't want to, of course, so he had nothing to do but have a few "thugs" throw me out as riff-raff. I knew Watson would say, "Holmes, do stop acting like a dog and join us for tea, I've had enough of your babbling and puzzling, you have promised things I know you intend to keep." I of course would never listen; I would likely as to shoot my own mother than to do what Watson wanted, wouldn't I? Perhaps I should go home, face my brother, and Watson and the world, and continue to bother everyone with my silly games, saving their necks in the end, of course. But that wasn't going to be my problem. It was completely different, I can assure you. Just a warning: Revenge is a sword, love is its tip, and hate is its hilt.


	2. Chapter 2

Silence filled the room as I came in. A sewer in the back dropped a pin the very moment I entered. As soon as I smiled, the four of them all smiled slowly and staggeredly began to work again. I went across the dirty sewing room and went into the shop area. People were bustling about, hurrying here and there, I was the shopkeeper here, and I had to keep proper order. I went over to the cashier's stand and started filling out orders, Mrs. Moffe's skirt needs hemming, Mr. Cornrey's ax was blunt, the little boys from the moor were wanting of wood for fires. I would brush my hands on my skirt and sigh each time I had to tell a costumer there were none of this or that. I would have to sell the horse if we didn't meet today's quota. But then Toby came.

"'ello, miss! Came to 'elp today, I did!"

"Thank 'e, I been needin' help. Please go help the boys bring in wood, will 'e?"

"Aye miss." And the boy ran off. Toby was the greatest of helps. Only fourteen and growing up to be strong like a man. Yet there was so much boy in him.

The day's work done, I was sweeping up, and then the door rang. Mr. Gregory stepped in, all 300 pounds of him. He budged aside a table as he bellowed out, "Ms. Harlow! Ms. Harlow! Where the devil are you?"

"Over here, Mr. Gregory." I sighed. I came over to see his bulge standing in the hall, his face that of reminds me very much of a wild boar, staring at me, demanding to know where I was.

"Ms. Harlow, where is my money!" He was the landlord, and I hadn't gotten together enough money this month to pay him.

"Ms. Harlow!" The pig eyes staring, I mumbled out,

"There wasn't enough…"

"Oh, I see! I see quite clearly Ms. Harlow! Consider yourself evicted!"

No!

"No, oh, please Mr. Gregory, I'm sorry about the payments, and we've all been trying very hard to earn the money, and-"

"Stop your sniveling, girl, and start finding another line of work, feed pigs for all I care, just don't waste this space and my ears with your noise! Good day! I expect this and the other rooms to be cleaned out by the end of the day tomorrow. Good day!" And with that, his hulking mass left. I started to cry. How could he do this to us? The rest of the staff trickled in to hug me. Toby was crying, his shoulder-length hair covering his eyes.

"Ms., what's gonna happen to us?" Toby sobbed.

"I don't know, Toby. I don't know." And I didn't.

Later that evening, I was packing the small amount of things in my room. The picture of my sisters and myself in a garden, a piece of my mother's wedding dress, a hand-mirror, and other things. Last I picked out the picture of my father, who had gone off to be a missionary, and died of malaria. He always said, if there was any emergency, the money was on him. I never quite knew what he meant, but he was gone now, and it didn't matter. They were evicted. Toby was heard sobbing in his bed, across the hall. Toby was orphaned at a young age, and so I took him in. He and I have always been close friends, as I am around 25, and he 14. It was a good time, but now it was hell. I looked at my father's picture, and realized that he was always wrong. That nothing would turn out right. I started to cry, but I didn't notice it till Toby came in, eyes red, hair in his eyes.

"Ms., I can't sleep."

"I know, Toby, I can't either."

"Oh, Ms., I wish Mr. Gregory wasn't so mean."

"I know."

"Ms.? Wouldn't it be grand if we didn't have to live with him as such a threat?"

"Yes, it would. Oh but Toby, we have to leave here anyway, so why does it matter?"

"Say we were in London," Toby smiled, he always dreamed of London.

"And say you owned a shop there, and, oh it'd be grand! We could see plays and hear music and take carriage rides and-" I suddenly looked at my father's picture and gasped. Behind his face there was writing, and not just any writing. I took the picture out of the frame. I removed the glass and picture slowly. The money was on him! Oh what a dunce I had been! There it was, the whole time! Five £100 notes, all folded neatly. This was more that I'd ever need for the rest of my life. I knew what I would do. I showed it to Toby. He gasped and almost screamed in delight, because he knew we were now rich. I ran downstairs and to my friend's houses, because they would all be going to London with Toby and I! We would be saved!


	3. Chapter 3

Holmes POV

I sat on the side of the road, waiting for nothing. There was nothing to wait for. I had been sitting here for two days, and nobody bothered me. You'd think I'd spontaneously combust, but no, I would wait forever for nothing. I have nothing to do. I'm used up, I guess. I was hungry, thirsty, tired. But no one cared. I think Watson's stopped looking for me. I was tired of this. I stood up and went into the inn to get a drink. The inn that I was outside of was popular. Most "tourists" stayed here. I was just in the mood for a drink, so I spent the last of my money on it. As I finished, not realizing what a strong drink I had just bought and started to feel the pressure inside my head gain strength. I felt my lips form mumbled words, and the man on the right side of me laughed a real snicker, like the kind that would used to get me so angry. But for some reason, it still did, and I turned and smacked the man across the face. He was a large man, and I was rather sickly now. He fell onto a chair, and the inn became quiet. The inn-keeper tried to restrain the big guy, but he got loose, and told a few of his friends to join in. Soon people gathered, as this man and I stared at each other. I was dizzy, and the ground was very high, in my face. It was a dirty floor, the kind that gave you splinters- Ow! I felt my body being dragged, but I was too dizzy to tell, too drunk. Then I felt rock on my hands, and face, as they threw me out. I heard laughing inside the inn. Then I heard the scream. I sat up. Irene has a voice like that… No, I told myself, no. She is gone, you are here. But the drunken part of my brain pulled me to my feet to follow the scream. It was on-going, desperate. I felt my feet take me unsteadily along, and around a corner. There she was.


	4. Chapter 4

**I know this is REALLY short but I will upload 2 chapters today, just for the heck of it! PLEASE REVIEW!**

Chapter 4: Startled

There I was, surrounded by these tall, mean nasty men, who were trying to get Toby, and my purse. I had just left the other girls to shop and such, but these men came, and- and- then I screamed. It was a different scream, and odd light scream, a scream of terror, and fear. Then another man came.

A dark man, I couldn't tell whether he was good or not, but he came, yelling at the bastards to get away. He was tall. And handsome. But he was drunk, he kept mumbling about this and that, and swearing, and such. Once the thugs were gone, he turned to me, and the light in his eyes changed from complete dark, to light.


	5. Chapter 5

**Finally got to update! Hope you like this chapter! Please Review!**

**Love you all!**

Chapter 5: Help

I knew she would be trouble, right from when I laid eyes on her. I saw that light red hair, and gleaming, fearful eyes, that she was the bitch's last resort. She was the prime of the torture, the pain. She would kill me. Would she? Was it that terribly bad? That I, of all people couldn't admit the truth? That I liked her?

No, I couldn't do that, I was bad, I was, was, wrong. I would make mistakes. And the voice, that voice.

_Irene…_

I shook my head. She looked fearful. The little boy standing beside her looked fearful as well. I looked down at my feet, seeing my shoes were tattered and ugly. My coat was dirty, and my hands were grimy. The girl was shaking.

She asked, "Who are you?" she was fearful of me as she guarded the boy behind her.

My throat was sore, but I answered, "My name, ma'am is Sherlock Holmes."

The girl backed away a half-step, "Why did you help us?"

"I heard you scream. A nice 'thank you' is all I need."

"Thank you…" she said quietly.

"Good day." I said, and walked out of the alley. I felt the most horrible feeling, like I was going to faint again, so I dashed to an empty street, and fell over, dead asleep.

I awoke, it was raining. I rubbed my hands over my dirty face. The darkness of night was only disturbed by a street lamp's glow. I ran my fingers through my hair. The chilling rain pierced my clothes, drenching me. I wanted to get out of the soaking deluge, get something to eat, go home, something like that.

I entered the popular inn, and smelled tobacco, drink, and food. My stomach rumbled, and my eyes craved a look at the delicious beef and vegetables laid out before jolly men. I snuck past the innkeeper and the thugs, and up I went to the bedroom level.

The third door on the right was an empty room. I put the "Do not Disturb" sign in front of the handle, hopefully rejecting any unwanted disturbance. I fell asleep in the bed, dirtying it. I was undisturbed for quite a while, about two or three hours. Then the door handle began to turn, waking me. I felt for a match, but it was too late. There was a figure standing in the doorway. The figure screamed, and I discovered it was a woman.

Not just any woman. There was a spring up of lamp light, as the red-haired girl's face stared in shock at my appearance. The look of surprise slowly led to anger. Her clothes, ruffled as she started to walk over to me, and I noticed they were brand-new.

"May I ask why you are here? In my bedroom, no less?"

"I'm sorry." I stammered. My head continued to hurt, and I stood there, feeling nauseated. She sternly reprimanded me, asking why I would do such a thing to a young girl like herself, going on how she should outright call the police. She said she would let me pass, all because of fending off the thugs that were after her. She then softened, and asked me why I was so dirty. I told her the short story of my whole happenings here. She began to understand, that I'd sacrificed it all for everyone else, but then the light in her eyes never seemed to be just right with me. She seemed dazed, as if this were not me, a stranger standing in her rented room, dirty clothes and face, and sunken eyes, waiting to leave. It was as if she actually knew, she actually knew of this pain.


End file.
